


It's a Thin Line

by Deadly_Sirius



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom!Harry, Cockblocking, Daddy Kink, Exhibitionism, Hair-pulling, Harry Styles Has a Daddy Kink, If You Squint - Freeform, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Pain Kink, Neck Kissing, No Smut, Recreational Drug Use, Scratching, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, THAT'S A TAG IM FUCKING CRYING, Top!Zayn, Where We Are Tour, i will never write about zayn and not also write about weed, if you beg me for it maybe i'll add another chapter with smut, most of it is flirting and teasing, prince hair!harry, there is very little Actual action that goes on here, this sounds way worse than it is, vague past larry vibes but not really, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27502228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadly_Sirius/pseuds/Deadly_Sirius
Summary: Louis Tomlinson is.. a cockblock. The world's biggest. Zayn loves his best mate and Harry loves his *REDACTED* but neither can stand Louis as he cockblocks them time and time again.A 5 + 1 fic recounting all the times Zayn was so close to getting it until Louis had to go and be Louis and fuck the whole thing up.
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Harry Styles
Comments: 16
Kudos: 74





	It's a Thin Line

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Pillowtalk" by Zayn! "Pillowtalk//my enemy, my ally//prisoners//then we're free, it's a thin line."
> 
> Also, I get way too much enjoyment from Louis and Harry having a completely undefined relationship with one another that's not platonic but not romantic and entirely awkward. Harry's heart aches for Louis just a little too much and Louis isn't really entirely completely sure how to function when Harry isn't around, but they haven't dated and they won't ever. And as much as people think they would, they really, really wouldn't work together. Plus, Harry's a bit preoccupied trying to get into Zayn's pants, so. There's that.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Zayn, we move on the _third_ -"

"Nice bum, Harreh," Zayn called, completely ignoring Louis not for the first time in their conversation.

To his credit, Harry had just stripped down to his pants and was talking to their stylist as she handed him skinny jeans to put on. After Zayn's comment, Harry looked over his shoulder at him and wiggled his hips, grinning slyly.

"Oi," Louis called, snapping his fingers at Zayn, which, _rude_. "Pay attention. You keep messing up the fucking blocking."

"What're you wearing tonight, Zaynie?" Harry asked, moving toward him and away from the woman who probably actually had the answer.

Zayn shrugged. "Dunno. Why?"

"Wanna match so when I blow you between songs it isn't noticeable if I put your shirt on after," Harry replied, nonchalantly. 

It was most likely the opposite; Harry felt awkward when he walked out in the same exact look as somebody else on stage. Nevertheless, Harry dropped down onto the leather couch, still naked aside from navy boxer-briefs, and sidled up next to him. Zayn wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders and ducked in so only Harry, and maybe Louis, could hear him. Really, he was just hoping their stylist was out of earshot.

"Can't believe you think I'd bother taking my shirt off before putting you on your knees and feeding my cock down your throat."

Harry let out a sudden burst of laughter, loud and bright, but there was a dusting of pink over his cheeks. Zayn wondered if, just maybe, Harry was thinking about it.

He didn't have time to ask, or make another joke, before Louis was speaking again.

"Disgusting. Anyway, Malik, we were _talking_ about your inability to follow directions."

Louis never really shut up, Zayn reasoned.

* * *

The bench at the kitchen table on their bus was frigid. Granted, Zayn was only in a t-shirt and boxers, but still. The mug in front of him filled with hot tea made him shiver at the off-balance of steaming liquid sliding down his throat while his thighs and feet froze. His lips and fingers were warmed, but his nose felt cold.

Zayn glanced up as someone stumbled out from the bunk area, haphazardly pushing the curtain back into place behind them. Harry rubbed at his eyes and then noticed Zayn, tilting his head to the side and furrowing his brows. "Why're you awake?"

"Julian got me up to record earlier. Just got back, like, twenty minutes ago."

Harry nodded in understanding as he moved to the lame excuse for a countertop. He wasn't really surprised at Zayn's state of undress; they all hardly wore clothing in the studio. They hardly wore clothing anywhere, really, as Harry was only in his Calvin Klein pants and fuzzy socks.

His littering of tattoos were starting to look really good, enough dark ink etched into his skin to look substantial. His left arm was decorated with different styles and the laurels on his lower stomach wrapped around toward his hips. The butterfly below his pecs was as bold as ever as he leaned over to splash milk into his tea.

"What're you doing here?" Zayn asked, referring to the fact that he usually kept to Bus 2 instead of Bus 1.

Harry came around the table and sat next to Zayn on the bench. He winced slightly as his bare legs also touched the cold wood. "Li's trying to quit again. Means he won't shut up about it, how proud he is of himself one second and how much he misses smoking the next. He's not sleeping well, either, keeps tossing and turning all night. He calls Soph half the time at like three in the morning just because, and he's driving me crazy. Figured I'd rather have an asthma attack with you lot than stay up listening to his whingeing. Dunno how Niall sleeps through it all."

"Guess I shouldn't go have a fag, then, should I?" Zayn teased. He had been itching for a cigarette, but he could wait to save Harry's lungs.

Harry took one more sip of his own tea before he placed it on the table in front of them and neatly laid down, resting his head in Zayn's lap. "Not unless the fag you're having is me," Harry joked right back, his eyes closing.

"You'll choke either way."

"Mmm, true," Harry purred, while Zayn dropped a hand into his hair. It was starting to get long, the curls beginning to droop past his chin but not quite uniform in length. He kept it up in hats and beanies and scarves most of the time, the awkward growing-out phase hitting him hard. But his hair was still as soft as ever as Zayn raked his fingers through it.

Zayn brushed through Harry's hairline, pushing from his forehead back to the top of his skull and scratching his scalp. Tilting his head, Harry moved so his face could nuzzle against Zayn's belly. The sudden action caused Zayn's hand to tug at the curls in his hand.

Harry breathed in sharply.

Zayn stilled. He did not move a muscle, his hand tight in Harry's hair as his eyes darted to the boy in his lap. Slowly, Harry pushed forward until his nose was pushing the fabric of Zayn's t-shirt against his stomach, just below Zayn's navel. With Zayn's grip on his hair, Harry's lean meant the strain worsened until it couldn't be anything but painful. Harry's lips stayed closed but he whined slightly against Zayn's shirt, brow furrowed at the uncomfortable, but seemingly desired, sensation in his scalp.

As he loosened his grip, Zayn's eyes did not leave Harry's face, and he noticed the moment they flickered open in confusion. Zayn held Harry's gaze as he relaxed his hand, slid it around to the crown of Harry's head, and pulled.

Harry's eyes rolled closed as he tugged Harry's head away from his stomach. Mouth dropping open silently, Harry let out a puff of air. One of his hands came up and squeezed Zayn's knee off to the side of Harry's far shoulder.

The feeling shocked Zayn's system; there wasn't some inanimate object he could play with resting in his lap. It was _Harry_ and he could _touch Zayn back._

"Do you know where the Yorkshire is?" an abrasive, ragged voice asked as another person breezed into the room.

Zayn's hand instantly slackened and Harry's eyes flew open, first glaring at Zayn for stopping and then turning to glare at Louis for interrupting. Nevertheless, he sat up, sighing and raking a hand through the curls Zayn had misplaced.

"Try the same place it is every day," Zayn sarcastically offered.

His gaze was dark and angry as it followed Louis through the kitchen. When he got to the counter, Louis yawned and arched his back to stretch. "Good idea. Thanks, mate," Louis replied easily. He had no idea what he'd just walked in on and, frankly, Zayn wasn't exactly sure either. Had he known, perhaps he would've had the grounds to argue Louis out of the kitchen. As it was, Harry slumped back into his own seat on the bench and returned to his cuppa.

"I think you should put his tea up on the top shelf tomorrow," Zayn muttered to Harry, who nodded gravely.

* * *

Zayn did not like clubs. Louis _loved_ clubs. Harry--due to his weird, unlabeled, mind-fuck of a non-romantic but not entirely platonic relationship with Louis--usually enjoyed them. Which meant, unlike usual, Zayn was actually having a pretty good time.

Liam was shouting into Niall's ear, lips a little too loose to not slur, and Niall was laughing every time Liam pulled away with a grin. Louis was off, lost to the bar where he undoubtedly was pounding shots with pretty girls who giggled and tried not to cringe as they threw back tequila. Harry was begging Zayn to dance with him. That was how drunk he was.

"I don't dance, Hazza," Zayn reminded, chuckling good-naturedly despite his loathing of dancing, particularly in public.

"You don't have to," Harry whined, with a pout, "you just have to grind against my arse."

Zayn laughed loudly and shook his head with a smile. "Babe, we're in public."

"So? My bum looks _delectable_ tonight."

"You're not wrong," Zayn said ruefully, tsking as Harry stood up from his seat to show off his assets. "Don't be a tease."

"Why not?" Harry asked, turning back around to face Zayn and blinking his sweet, wide eyes. His pupils were blown.

Zayn rose from the plush couch in the VIP lounge of the club they were partying at. His hands found Harry's hips. "Because I don't like brats who mouth off. If I did, I would've dicked Louis by now."

Harry pouted again and looked down. "I don't want you to dick Louis."

"No? And why not?" Zayn asked.

A finger, bent at the knuckles, came up to lift Harry's chin until his gaze met Zayn's again. Harry's eyes dipped down, just for a moment, to Zayn's lips. They flickered back up and he exhaled through his mouth. Vodka cranberry breath brushed against Zayn's skin as Harry dodged the question. "Come dance with me."

And Zayn really, really didn't want to dance, but he really, really didn't want to let go of Harry.

The latter desire won out, Zayn grinning lazily and shrugging in enough of a confirmation for Harry. The younger lad's eyes lit up and he excitedly pulled Zayn away from the table, out past the stragglers but not very far into the crowd. It seemed he too wanted a hint of privacy.

Once he found the right spot to dance, Harry immediately turned around and pressed his back to Zayn's front. One hand held his drink, but Zayn's other hand fell to the curve of Harry's waist.

They danced for a few songs, mostly swaying back and forth while Zayn grinded against Harry's arse. He took advantage of Harry's fuck-me jeans as much as he could. There came a point where Zayn's slowly stiffening bulge was no longer avoidable and Harry purposefully began rubbing against his dick.

In retaliation, the hand gripping Harry's waist slid to his front, pressing against his lower stomach. It paused there, just for a moment, before slowly slipping down until Zayn's fingertips were just resting on the top of Harry's own bulge.

He was definitely not soft.

Zayn moved his hand and steadily palmed Harry through his jeans until Harry's head fell back on Zayn's shoulder. "You look like such a pretty slut, baby, needy and fucked out in front of all these people." 

"Want you to fuck me in the toilets."

Zayn had almost convinced himself to say yes when a body crashed against his side.

"Shit, what the fuck?!" he cursed, knocked away from Harry as a weight continued to press against his bruised ribs. Something wet seeped into his shirt.

"Oi! Fuckhead! Why'd you bump into me?!" Louis shouted. Even as he asked the question, his drink was spilling onto Zayn and he was leaning sideways onto him.

"You're a goddamn cunt, Tomlinson. I was standing still. You slammed into me, fuckwit."

"Oh," Louis said, Zayn finally shoving him off. Louis giggled. "I did. Sorry."

"You guys okay?" Liam asked, shouting over the music. His eyes were filled with concern as he moved over to the trio, Niall dragging along behind him. "Tommo's pretty fucked. You think we should go?"

 _NO,_ Zayn wanted to shout. That is, until he saw Harry slink off to put an arm around Niall, the blond laughing something into his ear. "Yeah," he sighed, "we probably should."

So, Liam called Paul. Harry tried not to stumble as he left the club. Zayn ignored the weird gnawing feeling in his stomach at the sight of Paul practically lifting Harry into the car and asking if he was all right. Of course he was fucking all right; he wasn't the one who'd spilled a $60 drink down Zayn's side.

* * *

After hanging up the phone with his mother, Zayn checked the time. He winced. It was too late in the day to do anything productive but too early to fall asleep. His body was used to performing on stage at this hour. Such was the difficulty of days off.

He rolled out of bed and tugged a t-shirt over his head. It wasn't like he was leaving the hotel, but after fans got a hold of security footage once, they all tended to cover up a bit more in the hallways. He already had sweatpants on, so Zayn slipped his phone and room key into the pockets and headed out the door.

The guys all liked to have some alone time when they weren't working, but most of the day had passed in laziness and Zayn remembered getting a text a few hours ago from Louis to let them all know he and Niall were cracking open Liam's minibar. Liam was the only one who texted back, so Zayn decided to pop by Harry's first and see what he was up to.

Zayn didn't have to wait too long after knocking before Harry opened the door. He was wearing cut-off shorts made of the same material as Zayn's sweatpants and a t-shirt that was probably Louis's, judging by how tight the shirt was around his shoulders and how the hem stopped just below Harry's navel. Zayn's hand found Harry's mostly exposed hip before he even processed that the door opened. His thumb stroked over the front of the bare skin on Harry's hipbone as he greeted Harry.

"Oh. Hey, Zayn."

"Expecting someone else?" Zayn asked, eyebrows shooting up at Harry's vague confusion.

"No. Just- Didn't expect you, I guess," He admitted with a shrug. "Not a big deal. I probably should've checked through the peephole."

Zayn glanced down between them, eyes brushing over the dark dusting of hair peeking out from the top of Harry's dangerously low-riding shorts. "Yeah, might've been a good idea. Lucky it's just me," he said, attempting to raise his gaze back to Harry's eyes but stumbling over Harry's lips. His thumb pressed against the soft flesh halfway between where Harry's hipbone ended and where the dark patch of hair started. 

Harry stared back at Zayn, subconsciously licking his lips so they were glistening when he breathed out "Yeah." He stared for a few more moments, before swallowing thickly. "Do you want to come in?"

They were still standing in the doorway. But, with how Harry was looking at Zayn, and how badly Zayn wanted to taste those glistening lips, Zayn wasn't sure this would end well if Harry closed the door to his hotel room with them both inside. "What are you up to?" Zayn asked, begging for a safe and sane reason to say 'yes.'

"Was writing," Harry answered. That was a good enough reason, if anyone asked.

"Sure, I'll come in."

Harry paused for a moment, something going on behind his eyes as he squinted, deciding between going along with appearances or saying 'fuck all,' to it. Eventually, he must've decided the former, because he stepped away from Zayn's touch to gesture him in. Zayn trotted over to the couch and dropped down next to the guitar leaning against the back cushions, while Harry closed the door.

"What're you working on? Something for the band?"

"Nah," Harry replied, shaking his head as he sat down on the lounge chair next to the couch Zayn was on. Zayn tried not to frown at the distance between them. "Don't think it'll be used."

Zayn nodded; he had plenty of experience in writing songs not picked for their albums. "For something else, then?" He pulled the guitar into his lap and fingered at the strings.

Harry shrugged. "Just for myself, I guess. Don't think I'll want to sell this one."

It must've been rather personal, Zayn guessed. That, of course, made him desperately want to hear whatever Harry was writing, but if it was personal then it was up to Harry whether or not he'd share it. His notebook was closed on the table in front of them; there was a reason he'd chosen to shut it before answering the door.

"You've been writing any?" Harry asked, instead of offering to play his own song.

"A bit," Zayn responded, happy to move on if it was what Harry wanted. "I brought this idea to Lou a little while ago and he and Li really liked it. They've been dragging me into a few writing sessions. It's coming along."

"Yeah? Can I hear it? Get a bit of a preview?"

To be fair, it was going to be a song they would all sing, if Julian and their label liked it enough to run with it, so Zayn supposed the situation was different than Harry's personal lyrics. "Sure. Dunno if I know the chords well enough, though."

Zayn managed to make it through the first section fine, albeit a bit slowly and with a rough voice. He hadn't warmed up and Louis had written the part a bit high. When Zayn made it to the chorus and he strummed the first chord, Harry cringed as he frowned.

"Fuck, um-"

"I think, hang on," Harry interrupted, standing up from his seat and moving to sit to the left of Zayn. "It's supposed to be G, right?" he asked, in reference to the chord. "Your third finger was in the wrong place," Harry explained, carefully picking Zayn's ring finger and moving it to a different fret. "You got caught up in all the sevenths Liam loves to add. Just G."

"Yeah. Thanks."

Zayn was, admittedly, barely breathing as he watched Harry touch him. Harry's large hand was still cupping Zayn's, molding it to the shape of the chords, but the guitar was forgotten in his lap as he fell head-first into the expansive green looking back at him.

"You- You know how you said you'd choke me on your cock?"

Zayn definitely did _not_ remember that. He remembered vague implications of the notion, but he did not remember that. He also did not remember how they got to this subject. However, due to the fact that Zayn's pounding heartbeat sounded louder than his thoughts, he didn't look too much into it. "Yeah?"

"How come you never did?"

Harry's eyes were wide and sparkling, like he was hurt Zayn didn't fulfill a promise. But there was a flash Zayn recognized from Louis's own eyes; it was one of pure, unbridled mischief. With that in mind, Zayn spoke carefully.

"Those are big words, considering that you aren't on your knees where you belong."

In a split second, Harry had slipped onto the floor and pushed Zayn's legs apart. His big hands splayed out across the inside of Zayn's thighs, creeping up toward where Zayn really wanted them. Reaching forward, Zayn twisted a fist in the head of hair in front of him and Harry's eyes rolled back. Zayn inhaled deeply as Harry continued higher and higher.

The sound of a keycard being swiped on the other side of the door wrenched Zayn's hand out of Harry's hair. The door was kicked open and Harry slouched back against the coffee table behind him, hands dropping from Zayn.

“Ah! A guitar! Thank fuck someone is being productive in this godforsaken band,” Louis complained loudly as he dropped unceremoniously into the lounge chair, the same one Harry had been sitting on before he moved to delicately place Zayn’s fingers on the fretboard.

Zayn blinked and stared back at Louis. He didn’t ask a clarifying question because, frankly, he didn’t want Louis to clarify; he wanted Louis to get the fuck out. Louis, in typical Tommo fashion, particularly while smelling like alcohol and slightly slurring his words, barged ahead in his one-sided conversation and successfully killed any erection Zayn had been building.

“I just came from Niall’s and all he and Liam wanna do is fuck around. Niall laughed at me when I said we should try to write. Liam said there’s no point since Julian isn’t hovering, but that’s bullshit because it’s a waste of time to not have something to record the next time they show up, innit?”

Louis didn’t appear to actually be asking for confirmation. He sunk lower into his cushions and opened his mouth to continue. Harry sighed to himself, sending Zayn a fluttering look through the side of his eyes. It almost looked like _sorry_ , but Zayn wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for Louis or for whatever the fuck was happening before Louis burst in.

Zayn really hoped it wasn’t the latter.

* * *

The bus was quiet as it rumbled along the highway. They had finished the South America and EU legs of the tour, rounding it off with North America before they could go home. They were driving to somewhere in the U.S. and it was a hot August, the A.C. in the bus blasting. They had the day off for travel and that's exactly what they were doing, driving during the day instead of at night while everyone slept. It meant they were able to stay at a hotel after last night's concert, load onto the bus today, and make it to the next hotel by the time they needed to sleep again.

Zayn sat on the couch in the lounge of the bus, legs spread wide and clad in trusty joggers while his feet stayed planted on the floor. He was texting with one of his mates back home about the recent football match when he heard someone enter the room. Zayn glanced over his phone screen to find Harry, in only his pants again, moving through the doorway. Unfortunately, Harry looked positively miserable.

His pink lips were downturned and his eyebrows were drawn together. His green eyes were a little red and watery, like he'd been trying not to cry. His hair was pushed behind a scarf again, but it was messy and lumpy, like he'd been worrying his hand through it over and over. His bottom lip was puffy from where his teeth bit at it.

"What's wrong, babe?" Zayn asked immediately, turning his phone off and placing it off to the side. "You okay?"

As he opened his arms, Harry fell into them easily. He put a knee on either side of Zayn's hips and sat in his lap, tucking his head down into his neck. "I miss my mum. And Gems."

"Aw, Haz, it's okay," Zayn promised, arms immediately wrapping around the younger lad and hands rubbing up his back. "Did you call them?"

"I was talking to Mum for a bit but she had to go. Gemma's working, I think. She didn't pick up."

"That's all right. She'll call you when she's done. We don't have a show tonight so you can chat all night."

"I know." Harry, to Zayn's horror, sniffed. "I feel dumb. We've been doing this for years, but I still just miss her a lot."

"And she misses you too, babe." Zayn nuzzled the side of Harry's head. "They both do, and they'll both be there when tour's done. Only a month and a half left now."

"I just want to see them now."

"I know, Haz, but we can't. They've got lives, too," Zayn murmured. His heart also ached for his sisters and his parents. It always did. They never really stopped missing home, none of them. Not when they started so young and the transition was so immediate, so distinctive. "What can I do to help? You want to talk about it more?" He brushed aside some of Harry's loose, fallen curls and cupped his hand on the back of Harry's neck so as to trace against the skin with his thumb.

"No," Harry complained, burying his face deeper into the junction of Zayn's shoulder and neck.

Zayn felt a warm wetness where Harry was pressed and had to pull his friend away. Sure enough, the tears welling in Harry's eyes from before had started to fall. "Do you want a distraction? How about we put on a movie, yeah? Have a bit of a cuddle?"

Harry sniffed again and nodded, using the heels of his palms to rub away the tears. Zayn caught his wrists as they came down and pressed kisses to them. Harry blushed and smiled sheepishly at Zayn, before wrapping his arms around Zayn's neck and resting his head on Zayn's collarbone again.

Zayn managed to lean forward and grab the remote to the bus's shitty T.V. where it was sitting next to somebody's laptop on the side table. He let Harry pick the movie, some godawful rom-com he'd never heard of before, and repositioned them down on the couch so that Harry was still koala'd on top of Zayn but they could lay down. Zayn's hand absentmindedly removed the scarf from Harry's hair and started twirling the curls.

About forty-five minutes into the movie, with the bus's engine still lulling in the background as they crossed miles of land, Harry spoke up. It had been half an hour since Zayn had last paid attention, as that was when he deduced (correctly) the entire plot of the movie in his head and instead thought about nothing and everything while enjoying the sensation of his hand in Harry's hair.

"Zed?" Harry hummed, his cheek against Zayn's chest.

"Hmm?"

"Can we trade?"

"What?"

"Can we trade? Like, will you switch with me so you're on top?"

"Oh, you want me on top, do you?" Zayn quipped, already starting to shift so Harry could lay down beneath him.

"Yeah, always," Harry mumbled as he flipped onto his back. Zayn sat back on his own knees in front of Harry, ready to lie face down on his chest and nestle between his legs. When Harry was situated, he spread his legs open wide. The action made Zayn raise his eyebrows and Harry blushed. "Shut up."

"Didn't say anything. You're the one telling me to top you and then spreading your legs," Zayn pointed out, even while he laid down on top of Harry. Their hips pressed together and Harry wrapped his thighs around Zayn's waist, Zayn's head resting on a throw pillow next to Harry's.

"Can you see okay?"

"No," Zayn said honestly, "but I don't mind." He couldn't see the T.V. at all, but he fully intended to try and nap with the benefits of a warm boy underneath him.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, Haz," Zayn replied, tilting his head down so his lips could brush against Harry's jaw as he spoke.

Harry inhaled deeply at the touch, eyelids fluttering for a moment before he snapped them open and trained his gaze on the T.V. Experimentally, Zayn dropped his chin just a bit lower and nosed at the underside of Harry's jaw. Harry's thighs squeezed around his middle. Zayn pressed his lips into Harry's neck, just below his jaw. His eyelids fluttered closed again and he tilted his head back and to the side, so as to stretch out in front of Zayn.

Zayn kissed Harry's neck again. He let the scratchy stubble on his jaw and chin and cheeks rub against Harry's sensitive pale skin. He pressed, lightly at first, until Harry's hand came up behind his head and wound it's way into Zayn's hair and his tight grip pleaded for more. So, Zayn, just as an experiment, sucked a delicate bruise into the base of his neck.

Harry whimpered.

"Shh, babe," Zayn whispered, head swimming as he pointedly did _not_ think about what he was doing. "There are others on the bus."

It was true; any number of the security or crew guys that shared with them, or Louis, could walk in at any moment. Most of them were in the kitchen area, at the other end of the bus, as it was around time for lunch. Nothing but a few curtains and a couple steps prevented them from finding Harry with Zayn attached to his neck. The pair was out in the open.

Harry was quiet after that, aside from his little sharp inhales as Zayn occasionally nibbled or his stubble scratched. He went light on the marks, knowing they had a show tomorrow night, so everything had to fade by then. 

Harry's arm came around Zayn's shoulder and his fingers tried to find a gripping on Zayn's smooth skin. Instead, he mostly ended up digging his nails into Zayn's back, but it did nothing to deter Zayn. If anything, the scratches were the reason Zayn decided it'd be a good idea to slip further down Harry's body and kiss against his chest. He was having fun taking his time tasting Harry's skin. He licked across tattoos and explored the divots in Harry's chest.

By the time Zayn's tongue flicked across one of Harry's nipples, while his hands gripped Harry's tiny hips just above his pants, Zayn could feel something semi-hard pressing against his stomach. 

"Zayn-"

Harry's request was cut off by the sound of loud thumping in the hallway on the other side of the room's entrance. He grabbed Zayn's bicep and dragged him up so they were chest-to-chest again. Zayn watched Harry glance, panicked, down at the red scratches on Zayn's back. In a moment, Harry flipped them over again and Louis was walking into the room.

Their positioning hid Zayn's scratched back and the raw skin on Harry's chest and neck, rubbed red from Zayn's facial hair and sucked purple. Unfortunately, it also pushed their groins against each other and Zayn tried not to rock up. Louis, being Louis, was too preoccupied with himself to notice anything about them.

"Payno's looking for ya, Malik. Niall says he's got a plug in the next city, but Li won't let him come drop off 'til you've screened him."

Unfortunately, the request was painfully familiar. It seemed, despite the fact that they were all adults enough to handle their own shit and Harry was technically younger than Niall, they all kept an extra eye on Niall. He may have been the unofficial younger brother of the band, but Liam really needed to calm his tits. Zayn knew Niall could buy his own weed, despite all four of them still going to Zayn for final approval.

"How much is he buying?" Zayn groaned out. If Liam's knickers were in a twist over a gram or two, Zayn was going to physically assault him.

"Couple ounces. He's stocking us all up and none of us know anybody for the next few weeks. And he's got some friends flying out before then."

Zayn did believe Niall knew how to buy weed by now. But he also thought of that time in the first year of touring when Liam spent way, way too fucking much on an eighth of laced product. When Zayn had taken a hit and it tasted _wrong_ , he threw out the rest of what Liam bought and went off on Liam's arse about the sketchy deal.

Liam and Louis had decided that night, as the two unofficial leaders of the band, if anyone wanted to buy drugs again they had to get the deal approved by Zayn. Zayn agreed somewhat begrudgingly, saddled with the burden of knowing a concerning, for their age, amount about buying and selling. He preferred the hassle to having to call Paul for a trip to the hospital, at least.

Ultimately, Zayn knew this was the biggest order Niall had ever placed and it would be a good idea to make sure everything was clean.

"Fine," Zayn finally gritted out. "I'll go find him later."

"He's on the phone right now, in the kitchen. You better fucking hurry up," Louis said, irritatingly pleasant, as he exited the room. "It's the least you can do for the man giving you free weed for the rest of the month!"

Harry huffed a sigh into Zayn's neck and tightened his arms and legs around Zayn.

"Sorry, babe." Zayn patted the side of Harry's thigh. "You gotta get up."

Harry grumbled, but he still slid off of Zayn, pushing himself into the back of the couch so Zayn could slip out from under him. Zayn did so after he pressed a quick kiss to Harry's temple. He moved to the room's exit, where Louis had disappeared a few moments earlier, and looked back at Harry curled up on the couch. "I hope you're feeling better, babe," Zayn admitted honestly. Homesickness was a bitch.

Zayn grabbed a shirt from his bunk as he passed it on his way to the bus's kitchenette.

* * *

With the past week Zayn's had, he planned to do absolutely nothing besides smoke a shit ton of weed and zone out laying spread-eagle on his hotel room bed after the show. They had three days off after this, as long as he could manage to make it through the next two hours. Then he'd be free to be caged in the hotel, but at least he could smoke and not worry about his voice or having to wake up on time and sober. Not that he ever did the latter; Paul was his alarm clock and, by now, he and Louis spent about half of their interviews higher than the ceiling.

They'd already checked into the hotel, having stayed there the night before, and Zayn practically salivated at the thought of a clean bed and a door that locked. And, of course, the bud tucked into the bedside table's top drawer that Niall had bought for him. 

All plans of being properly alone for the first time in weeks, however, flew out of the window the minute Harry grabbed just above his elbow before they ran out onstage. A small plastic card was pressed into Zayn's back pocket. Hot breath brushed against his skin as Harry murmured into his ear. "I really think you should come to my room after the show."

Zayn was fucking soaring.

In the blink of an eye, Harry pushed past him and walked out onto the stage behind Niall. Zayn shook his head furiously, trying to clear his thoughts, and barely stumbled out in time. The entire arena was screaming and he winced as he shoved his in-ear monitor further in, trying to block out some of the deafening noise. 

The rest of the concert was no better. He was trying to read signs and sing the right words and move to where he needed to be at the right time, but all he could muster was half-hearted energy as his eyes tracked nearly every single one of Harry's movements. Harry, the dickwad, seemed just as jolly and energetic as normal. He wasn't distracted at all as he bantered with the crowd and grabbed his crotch and belted high notes.

Zayn could barely keep his body in check, unbelievably thankful he had played so many shows and sang the songs so many times that he could do it asleep. While his brain repeated Harry's words over and over and the skin where Harry's breath hit tingled and the blood in his veins surged, firey and angry and heavy, his legs and lips moved and his vocal chords danced over the notes.

As great as Zayn's autopilot was, it unfortunately wasn't perfect. Zayn nearly body slammed Liam, eyes catching the other man in his periphery and an arm coming out to dodge Liam with a hand on his waist to guide him in the right direction. The crowd momentarily got louder at the interaction, Zayn desperately trying not to stumble and fall on his face while they all watched, but then Louis twisted Niall's nipple and the phone cameras swung away from them.

"You good?" Liam asked, a hint of worry in his eye as he leaned close to be heard.

"Fine, Payno."

"You seem really distracted. Like, miles away. You take anything?"

Zayn swallowed thickly. "No," he said, shooting Liam a glare, "I said I'm fine. Just tired."

Liam didn't look like he believed it. However, he also probably wouldn't believe Zayn if he said he was desperately trying not to get on his knees in front of Harry right now. Ultimately, Zayn figured Liam would find a way to let it slide.

They had made it to the end of the last song before the encore, tumbling off the stage together. Someone with a flashlight pointed at the ground ushered them into a small backstage room they'd dipped in and out of to change clothes throughout the concert. Zayn, having sweated through his t-shirt, was pulled off in one direction by wardrobe to change. Harry, with his curls loose from Liam tugging on his headscarf until it eventually fell off, was dragged into the other corner so Lou could fix the situation.

Zayn briefly saw Louis also near their hairstylist as he pulled a clean shirt over his head. Hairspray fizzed out of a bottle loudly by Louis and Harry, Liam dabbed his forehead and neck with a towel, and someone was crouched by Niall's waist futzing with his mic pack. A staticky voice sounded from a nearby walkie talkie, the dull roar of the audience nearly covering it entirely, and a security guard near them whistled and nodded back toward the stage.

Somebody passed Zayn a bottle of water and he downed half of it before Niall shoved him along and they went back out. 

The encore was worse than the rest of the show, considering that by the time they offstage again, the only thing Zayn could recall was the small bun half of Harry's hair was tied up in. He blinked, head fuzzy, as hands reached for his microphone and pulled at his earpiece. Vaguely remembering where he was, Zayn shed himself of his equipment and continued onto the next step of the band's post-show routine: bolting.

Sure enough, Liam's back was ahead of him, Louis a step behind Zayn, as the band pounded through concrete hallways deep in the venue. Security ran with them, keys jangling loudly as they panted into radios, guiding the band through the arena they barely knew their way around.

Just as the jog began to seem longer than usual, two wide open doors came into view. Fresh air hit Zayn's face as they neared the end of the tunnel where two black cars were parked, waiting to take them back to the hotel. Fans had already left the venue to catch them and screams stirred up as the band came into view.

"Where're the others?" one of the security guards asked. Zayn knew them all by name, but with the way his head was swimming, he didn't even look up at the guy's face.

"Niall was practically limpin' off stage, think he was running too much or someone threw something that hit his knee," Liam filled in.

"Harry stayed back with him, told me to go on and he'd catch up with us," Louis finished.

It was only then that Zayn realized Harry and Niall weren't right behind them.

"Right. Let's get you lot out of here, then," someone else said.

They were herded into one of the cars, Zayn against the far window and Louis in the middle. The ride was short and Zayn spent the entire time thinking about the hotel room key burning a hole through his back pocket.

By the time they arrived at the hotel, their personal belongings had already been transported from the venue as well, assistants handing them off as soon as they stepped into the lobby. Liam slipped his backpack over his shoulder and Louis stuffed his wallet into the pocket of his sweatshirt.

"So, lads, which room's minibar are we-"

"Think I'm just gonna shower and have an early night in," Zayn said, hastily cutting Louis off. 

Liam raised his eyebrows, still suspicious about Zayn's off-kilter behavior, but said nothing. Louis frowned at him but shrugged nonetheless, inviting Liam back to his room and quickly texting Niall and Harry the plan.

Realizing that Harry wasn't back yet, Zayn decided to go to his own room first. The minute he stepped onto the garish carpet, his body slackened and he realized how disgusting he felt. Makeup was caked onto his face and his hair was crunchy with spray in some parts and damp with sweat in others. His skin felt moist all over, like he'd tried to put on clothes right after stepping out of the shower.

Showering was what he decided to do to fix the situation, taking special care to scrub well. Brushing his teeth seemed like the next logical step, as Zayn checked his phone and didn't have any notifications from Harry. He hadn't even replied to Louis's message on their group-chat, despite the fact that Niall had.

Vainly, Zayn ran a dollop of product through his hair, allowing it to fall a bit softer than the stiff style Lou typically gave him. A spritz of cologne wouldn't hurt, he reasoned, but refused to shave. It was too much effort and it would be too formal, he decided. This was Harry, after all. Harry, who'd invited Zayn back to his room after the show. 

Zayn vaguely wondered if that made him a groupie, if he could be a groupie and be in the band at the same time, as he slipped on the comfiest pair of joggers he owned. Once paired with a band t-shirt that was definitely Harry's that Zayn definitely took on purpose, Zayn paused.

He was ready. He was clean and cozy and could easily slip over to Harry's room. But Harry still hadn't texted him. But Harry'd invited him distinctively. But Zayn didn't even know if Harry was back yet. But he could just wait for Harry in his room.

Knowing if he didn't act soon he'd pussy out, Zayn grabbed both his own key and the one Harry had slipped him and marched out of his room. Each step he took toward Harry's room down the hall faltered more and more, until he stood outside the door with arms limp at his side. Zayn questioned whether or not he should knock, but Harry must've given him the key for a reason.

Hesitantly sliding the card through the scanner--and hoping Harry wasn't spread out naked on his bed waiting because Zayn really would be too awkward to even begin to know what to do with that--Zayn took a deep breath in. He pushed the handle down and opened the door, exhaling as he did so.

Harry was standing just outside of the bathroom, toweling off his hair. Only bold black pants and a littering of tattoo ink broke up the smooth, tan, endless skin. Looking up at the sound of the door opening, Harry paused his humming. His face brightened at the sight of Zayn.

"You came."

Zayn shrugged. He had no idea what to do with his hands. "You asked me to."

Harry eyed him up and down. "You look good in my clothes," he finally said, back turned to Zayn as he dropped the towel onto the floor and stepped toward the couch. It was a good thing for Zayn that Harry wasn't looking because his cheeks and the tips of his ears instantly turned pink. Harry had noticed the shirt.

"Oh, this? Forgot it was yours," Zayn coughed out, responding a moment too late for the lie to be believable.

Sure enough, Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "Come sit," he said, choosing to spare Zayn.

Harry patted the couch cushion farthest from the door, so Zayn followed his instructions, carefully dropping down beside him. Yet again finding himself at a loss for what to do, Zayn slumped slightly against the back of the seat, trying to decide if he felt like asking the earth to swallow him whole or like he owed someone a million dollars just to be sitting there.

Harry's large, wide palm dropped onto his leg, fingers curling down the inseam of Zayn's joggers and thumb rubbing the top of his thigh. Zayn glanced up to find Harry looking intently at him.

"How are you?" Harry asked.

Instantly, Zayn was hit with a wall of relief. This was Harry. This was his Harry. This was the guy he toured the world with and grew up with and Zayn knew how to be around Harry, was so good at it that he loved nothing more. This was Harry and this was not a reason to panic. "I'm- I'm tired," Zayn replied honestly, just like he always did when Harry asked.

"Yeah?" There was a bit of curiosity and the tiniest drop of maternal worry in Harry's tone.

"Yeah. But I'm good. I'm really good."

Harry grinned back, bright and toothy and dopey and--holy fuck-- _lovesick._ "I'm really good too." 

Eyes darting down to Harry's lips, Zayn leaned closer to him. "Oh, you are?"

"I am," Harry said, gaze glued to Zayn's mouth but coyly leaning back as Zayn moved toward him. "I'm doing great," Harry chuckled out. Zayn smiled at the sound, hand reaching for Harry's hip.

"So glad to hear that," Zayn stupidly entertained, brain focused on nothing but _lips lips lips lips_ and the fact that Harry was, absolutely, laying down on the couch and pulling Zayn along for the ride.

When Zayn's brain caught up with him, he indeed found Harry's long legs stretched out beneath him and his bare, expansive chest _right fucking there._ Once more, Zayn found himself on top of Harry with hands in his hair and thighs wrapped around his waist. "But, you know. I could be doing better."

"Oh?" Zayn inquired, guessing by Harry's faux-innocent tone that he was about to be a minx. "How could you be doing better?"

"Well," he began, hands tightening in the back of Zayn's hair. Zayn inhaled sharply and tried not to close his eyes. "For starters, you could bury your cock in my arse and tell me how good I'm being while I cry because you've been edging me for hours and won't let me cum, _Daddy_."

At the last word, Zayn nearly choked. His knee slipped off the edge of the couch, where it had been precariously balanced, and slammed into the floor. His elbows gave out, leaving him flattened against Harry's torso instead of supported above him. Harry automatically started giggling.

Zayn, once he worked his stomach out of his throat, was able to laugh along as well. It was a pretty ridiculous situation, what with Harry calling Zayn 'Daddy' for the first time and Zayn promptly attempting to shatter his fucking kneecap.

Continuing to laugh as Harry worked himself into a fit, Zayn placed his knee besides Harry hip again, this time sturdily on the cushion. He tucked his face into Harry's neck, laughing into it for a moment more, before pressing his smile to Harry's skin.

Harry's giggles began to falter, coming out sporadically, almost as if Zayn's beard tickled them out of him. By the time Zayn worked up to the underside of his jaw, Harry's head was pressed back into the cushion and his eyes were hooded and his giggles had turned into heavy breathing.

"Hey," Zayn said, hovering over Harry's face.

"Hi there, " Harry replied, staring openly at Zayn's mouth.

"You look pretty," Zayn murmured, ducking so his lips were centimeters away from Harry's, "all horny and spread out beneath me."

Harry's hips rutted up against Zayn's. His soft exhale caught at the end and turned into the faintest of whines. It sent a spark down Zayn's spine.

"I'm gonna make you squirm so badly I'll have to hold you down just to play with your arse," Zayn decided, rough tone just barely louder than a whisper. "Think it's what you deserve after being such a tease."

No longer looking at Zayn, Harry's eyes squeezed shut for a moment. "Please," he whimpered. "Please," Harry repeated, this time staring up at Zayn as the word tumbled from his bitten lips.

A beep sounded and the door flung open.

In the very top corner of Zayn's view, he could see Louis Tomlinson, professional cockblock and, honestly, godawful best friend.

Zayn desperately wanted to glare him down, but Harry's gaze hadn't pulled away from Zayn and something, _something_ , in him said to not break eye contact with Harry.

“Louis, get the fuck out.”

To everyone in the room's surprise, it was not Zayn who spoke up. Despite his constant grumbling about how annoying Louis was and despite how much Harry worshipped the ground Louis walked on, it was Harry who had uttered the words. Without even looking away from Zayn’s eyes, their faces almost close enough for lips to brush against each other, Harry Styles had cussed out Louis Tomlinson.

It was calm, almost conversational, but Louis stalled. So did Zayn, mentally.

“Uh-“

“Out. Now.”

From his periphery, Zayn watched as Louis put the pieces together, figured out why Zayn was leaned over Harry and hands were in hair and lips were so, so fucking close, just an inch more, _please_. Then, to Zayn’s horror, he saw Louis cross his arms and set his weight into his wide stance.

“No. What the fuck is going on-“

“Louis William Tomlinson, so help me God,” Harry began, speaking to Zayn’s mouth and not even turning around, “if you don’t leave in the next three seconds I will cut off your prick and serve it to you personally on a silver platter.”

“I-“

“One,” Harry’s voice rumbled, the threat finally exposing an agitated edge in his tone.

“I’m gonna go.”

The door swung shut shortly after and Harry’s smile relaxed again. “Remind me to ban Paul from getting him our room keys," Zayn murmured. "And to never get on your bad side,” he added, eyes nearly crossed at how intently they stared at the wet, plush, pink bottom lip below him.

“Yeah, best not to,” Harry hummed.

Then, he kissed Zayn.

**Author's Note:**

> As I said in the tags, I may be persuaded to add a smut chapter if y'all really want, just don't have time to get around to it right now and wanted to post this.
> 
> Comments/kudos are always appreciated! :DD


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